


He's Already Mine (So Just Call Him My Mate)

by Tahlruil



Series: Alliances and Mates [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, BAMF Peter, BAMF Stiles, Banter, Can't We Just Be Mates Now, Canon-Typical Violence, Courting Rituals, Fluff and Humor, How Do I Tag, Kissing, M/M, Merman Peter, Octo-Stiles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, maybe smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: "I have indulged your need for this... thisvulgardisplay so far Peter, but I must insist--""It's hardly vulgar, Talia," Peter said while inspecting his left arm. It was hard not to look as smug about the marks Stiles had left on him from wrist to shoulder so he didn't even try. He still liked the way Stiles looked on him and there was no way he would discourage his mate - soon to be - from leaving them. Talia was only lucky that Stiles' father had laid down the law when it came towherethe marks were to be left. Peter's arms were acceptable, ones left on his neck earned him a disapproving glare, and any marks on his chest were absolutely forbidden.Peter had the feeling that if they hadn't been made while Stiles was injured, the last set of bruises Stiles had left on his torso would have been grounds for John to challenge him to a duel. He kept meaning to ask, but always ended up getting distracted before he could question Stiles about the matter.





	He's Already Mine (So Just Call Him My Mate)

**Author's Note:**

> Coming in just under the wire again!! Maybe! If I get this actually posted before midnight! :'D
> 
> I said I would continue this 'verse and so I have! :D I have many thoughts and plans, so I'm happy to add this story to my March rotation. <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! :D

"I have indulged your need for this... this _vulgar_ display so far Peter, but I must insist--"

"It's hardly vulgar, Talia," Peter said while inspecting his left arm. It was hard not to look as smug about the marks Stiles had left on him from wrist to shoulder so he didn't even try. He still liked the way Stiles looked on him and there was no way he would discourage his mate - soon to be - from leaving them. Talia was only lucky that Stiles' father had laid down the law when it came to _where_ the marks were to be left. Peter's arms were acceptable, ones left on his neck earned him a disapproving glare, and any marks on his chest were absolutely forbidden.

Peter had the feeling that if they hadn't been made while Stiles was injured, the last set of bruises Stiles had left on his torso would have been grounds for John to challenge him to a duel. He kept meaning to ask, but always ended up getting distracted before he could question Stiles about the matter.

No matter what Stiles said, however, he had not pouted when he had been forced to watch them fade away to nothing.

Peter didn't _pout_.

"Not vulgar? Peter, it's downright obscene. You are covered in marks from that... that boy, and you flaunt them to anyone who will set their eyes on you. I will not have a member of my family acting like... like..."

"Like a man about to happily mated to a gorgeous young creature whom he adores?" Peter asked, voice dry. His sister only glared at him, giving an irritated huff before tossing her head. "Do calm down, won't you? Neither you nor our close-minded compatriots will have to bear it much longer. We leave for Stiles' home as soon as the terms of the treaty have been agreed upon. Incidentally--"

"No."

It took a good deal of willpower not to growl at Talia's dismissal. He had no idea why she continued to keep him away from the talks that would cement the alliance between their clan and Stiles' tribe. Peter knew more about the Ocartians than Talia did - _Derek_ knew more than Talia at this point - and Stiles father seemed to respect him. If his stubborn, stupidly proud sister would just admit that Peter had something to offer, that his talents and intelligence would be _useful_ , he and his vulgar display would already be headed back towards the territory held by Stiles' tribe.

"Fine. Then we have nothing more to discuss."

"Peter, must you pout and whine like a child every time you don't get your way?"

He refused to dignify that with an answer, largely because he knew it would lead to a messy fight. Talia would never trust him the way he wanted her to. Banging his head against that wall was pointless until and unless he decided to challenge her for leadership of their clan. Before then it was better to retreat, to let her try and fail to do things her own way. At least that made it all the more satisfying when she came begging for his help. It would be the same with these talks - he just needed to wait for that to happen and make himself scarce until it did.

Peter would rather spend time with Stiles anyway.

So he left his sister without another word, ignoring the way she called after him. She sounded frustrated and maybe even a little angry, which suited him just fine. On his way to the guest wing Peter was pleased to see that Erica and Boyd spending time with Liam and the Octarian he now recognized as Isaac. The idea to form mixed units to search for Stiles was one that was clearly bearing fruit. It eased a knot of anxiety in his chest, helped him believe that Talia wouldn't be able to ruin this, not even with her poorly hidden disdain for the Octarians as a whole. There were relationships being built, ties being formed; it might be enough to help them all survive the coming storm.

When he found his mate, Stiles was on the floor in the guest library, immersed in a book. Octarians, Peter had learned, didn't know the same processes and spells for preserving paper from the surface world. Stiles was fascinated by all the stories that he had never heard before, and almost every moment he wasn't with Peter was spent devouring them. He didn't acknowledge Peter's presence, eyes staying fixed on the pages. It was clear that he was enjoying whatever story it was, and also that it was a suspenseful moment. His tentacles were moving restlessly over the floor, one twined around and slowly crawling up the leg of the bench that Stiles' upper body was draped over. They were always the best indicator of his mood, and right now Peter knew he was feeling excited and curious about what would happen next.

Peter swam over and trailed his fingers over Stiles' shoulder simply to let him know he had arrived. His mate startled but traded a smile with him when their gazes met. He was also quick to turn his attention back to the book, however, so Peter left him to it for the time being. They had time before they began the next part of their courtship and he could only hope it would be enough for Stiles to either finish his book or at least get to a good stopping place. An interrupted Stiles was a cranky Stiles who glared and pouted instead of accepting Peter's attempt to ply him with kisses. Since kissing Stiles was both fun and the best way to encourage his young mate to leave marks on Peter's skin, he had no interest in losing the ability to do it while Stiles sulked.

Since realizing Stiles' fascination with the place, Peter had begun keeping some of his own volumes stored there. Mostly it was material related to the vile monsters that crawled out of the trenches - origin myths, tactics and strategies to beat them, speculations on how to drive them away for good... a bit of everything, really. The Octarians were as invested as he was in defeating that threat if they could, and since none of the tomes were that special or valuable, he didn't mind sharing his hard-gathered resources. It was one of those volumes that he himself snagged from table it was all sitting on. Stiles had pointed out a few interesting similarities between the myths of these beasts and some of those regarding surface monsters. Peter was both pleased at his mate's cleverness and peeved at the fact he hadn't recognized that himself. He was also eager to see if there was anything there.

They stayed quiet and absorbed in their own work for a while after that. Peter had ignored the furniture the same way his mate had, stretching out on the floor at his side instead. Three of Stiles' tentacles ended up exploring his tail - a shivery, extremely pleasant feeling - while a forth had twined instantly around his right forearm. That much constant connection was new to Peter, but it was something that he had discovered he enjoyed. Octarians seemed to indulge in touch far more often than his own people. Peter suspected it was a function of their tentacles, which were always reaching out and exploring the world around them curious. Since Stiles, he had grown more used to it and found himself translating it to his other relationships. Cora in particular was delighted by the way he would throw his arm around her shoulders for the duration of their conversations, and Derek always seemed shyly pleased when Peter settled a hand on his arm or shoulder.

Knowing Stiles had changed him, and Peter was certain it was for the better. He didn't care about the snide whispers that said they where moving too fast or that Peter was lowering himself by mating with an Octarian. The whisperers knew _nothing_ , didn't know Peter or Stiles, and he would find a way to make them sorry they had opened their mouths to remark upon things that were none of their affair. Stiles was beautiful, perfect and _his_ ; he just wanted all the nonsense out of the way so they were bound together forever.

That want, that _craving_ to complete their courtship as quickly as possible, was why half his attention was on the passing time. Shortly before Stiles' father would expect them, Peter closed his book with a quiet sigh. "Darling, it's time to get moving," he said, trying to keep his interruption as gentle as possible. Stiles grunted in reply, the tentacle wrapped around Peter's arm squeezing down hard in a show of reluctance. Peter rolled his eyes and carefully extracted himself from his mate's hold. "Well _I'm_ going, whether you decide to come along or not. It's only our courtship, Stiles, nothing important so please don't feel pressured to hurry."

"I won't," Stiles said idly. When Peter darted a glare his way, he watched a small, satisfied smirk crawl over Stiles' lips. The sight drew a growl that was part irritation and part arousal from his chest; that was enough to get Stiles to finally look at him again. His lovely eyes were wide with the surprise that always seemed to be there whenever Peter even hinted at the way Stiles made him _want_ , something that was as delightful as it was irritating. Stiles had no reason to be so insecure, but Peter knew there wasn't much he could do to change that except be constant in his affection and appreciation for his mate.

"If you don't get up and start moving, sweetheart," he said, giving his sharpest grin even as he used his sweetest voice. "I will haul you up over my shoulder and carry you there." Stiles' eyes went even wider, and Peter was sure he saw his pupils dilate. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, pink and skilled and tempting, and Peter couldn't help but preen at the evidence that Stiles wanted just as much as he did.

"That is a really bad way to get me moving Peter," Stiles pointed out. "I don't want to be a damsel in distress - why are they called damsels in these stories anyway? What's a damsel? Does it just mean girl and if it does why don't they just say that? The princess is a damsel, the merchant's daughter is a damsel, all the ladies who go to dances are damsels... it's weird. Especially since the girls who do things like sell rags or beg on the streets are wenches instead. Humans are strange. The point I'm trying to make though is that I don't want to be one but I would like it if you carried me around like I was. It sounds pretty great. I'd get to feel your muscles _and_ I wouldn't have to move. You should use different threats, is what I'm saying, because that isn't much of one."

"I doubt John will be impressed with either of us if we show up with you tossed over my shoulder."

"True. Plus I'd probably leave bruises on places he wouldn't find very appropriate."

"Mmm," Peter agreed in what was more of a rumble than a word. "And while I have no objections to that, we do need his continued support if we want to be officially mated. So will you please put the book down and come with me darling?"

Stiles needed another moment to think, but that didn't really bother him. It wasn't hesitance over their courtship; it was Stiles trying to weigh the pros and cons of forcing Peter to carry him despite his father's possible wrath. Common sense won, as it rarely did, and Stiles set his book aside with a groan of displeasure before taking Peter's offered hand. It was easy to haul Stiles up off the floor, and they kept their fingers twined together as they made their way to the infirmary.

Tattoos, Peter had been told, were painful to get and required bandaging after they were done. While it seldom happened that things went truly wrong, they were best done in a place where treatment could be given quickly. Deaton was one of Peter's least favorite clan members, but even he had to admit the Mer did excel at his craft. He would be able to bandage the new marks that Stiles and Peter would leave with, and likely would have something to ease the pain as well.

Hopefully not the leaves of a praerigious plant though. Certainly it numbed the skin, but it also tasted dreadful and left his tongue tingling for hours.

Just in case, he pulled up short a hallway away from their destination. "Peter, what are you doing? I thought you were all eager to get this done and over with and... oh," Stiles interrupted himself as Peter wrapped an arm around his waist and drew him in close. Stiles had to wrap almost all his tentacles around Peter's arms to keep from winding them around his torso instead. The result would be yet another layer of round bruises; Peter hoped never to be free of them again until he died. "Kissing now, right? I do love the kissing bits. Damsels do too, so maybe I _am_ a damsel but not on in distress."

"Stiles darling, I have a much better use for your tongue, so if you would kindly--" Stiles was the one to seal their mouths together, a needy sound leaving him as he did. His arms went around Peter's neck and his suckers started to do their work, dragging a moan out of Peter. Stiles took easy advantage of the way the sound had parted his lips, tongue delving between them to take possession of Peter's mouth.

It was amazing the way Stiles could make him feel so weak with only a kiss, especially considering he hadn't had much practice before Peter. The things he could do with his tongue were downright sinful, and when he decided to take charge Peter could do little more than hang on and enjoy the ride. He let his hands wander as Stiles took his mouth, sweeping one over his back while the other skimmed up his side. He didn't quite dare go for Stiles' nipple, not with John likely lurking nearby, and it was a shame - Stiles made the most beautiful sounds when they were played with. He contented himself with stroking his mate's beautiful skin instead, tracing patterns and lines between the beauty marks he already knew by heart.

He could spend the rest of his life kissing and touching Stiles... but to do that they needed to complete their damned courtship. They knew they were mates, but they had to do the song and dance to convince everyone else of the same. A very important step awaited them, so too soon Peter eased himself out of the kiss. He couldn't help but trail his lips over Stiles' jaw after, moving until he could suck on the spot just beneath the hinge of Stiles' jaw, leaving a claiming mark of his own.

"Peter..." Stiles whined as he did, voice high and beautiful with need, body going limp in Peter's hold. He was so wonderfully responsive, and Peter couldn't wait to explore that more thoroughly.

Talia was lucky he was nowhere near as 'vulgar' as she thought he was. Otherwise he would have Stiles right there in the hallway, would play his body until his mate was weak and aching with need. He would take Stiles apart until he begged for Peter to stop, to let him find release, and he would do it right then and there. If Peter was the sort of Mer Talia thought he was, Peter would do all of that without going through the hassle of courting the beautiful Octarian had pressed his face against Peter's neck, panting against his skin.

But Peter was more than his sister would ever admit, so he made soothing sounds against Stiles's temple and stroked his back, helping his young mate calm and center himself. "Ready to get our tattoos, darling?"

"No," Stiles said promptly, sounding sulky as he always did when discussing this stage of their courtship. "I hate getting them. It's awful, Peter, just awful. I had pretty much planned on never getting another one - I was going to be the least tattooed leader of my tribe ever. Now I have to get _three more_ just to be mated to you, and I really don't think it's fair. Why can't we just stick to the kissing stuff?"

As his mate whined and complained, Peter just smiled and drew him forward to Deaton's infirmary. Stiles really did hate tattoos, and he hated the process of getting them, and he hated how large this first one was going to be... but he was doing it. He was doing it because he wanted to be mated to Peter, and there was absolutely _nothing_ vulgar about this thing between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day five done! :D I've never been able to stay committed to something like this for so long, lololol. So proud of me.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://tahlreth.tumblr.com) if you wanna come say hi or whatever. <3


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